


In The Cards

by thelookyouredoingthelookagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Fluff, Love, M/M, Tarot Cards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-15
Updated: 2014-11-15
Packaged: 2018-02-17 04:09:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2296094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/pseuds/thelookyouredoingthelookagain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a case introduces the boys to a psychic, their ideas about it couldn’t be more different. Her predictions for John lead him down a road Sherlock's not sure he believes in.<br/>Note: we are not Tarot card experts. We used an old book as a reference so we hope we've not misrepresented anything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. John's Cards

**Author's Note:**

> All works here were produced by two friends in the fandom. One writes as SH and one as John, and we edit together. Our characters are based on the BBC's _Sherlock_ , though we don't mind playing a little loosely with canon and the occasional AU. We have whims and like to follow them. While we like to torture our boys with constant misunderstandings, we know they belong together and we always see to that.
> 
> All posted works are complete, and we hope there will be something for everyone. Please take a look at our other works. Just a note, though, there's pretty much always going to be smut. Sometimes fluff, sometimes angst, but always smut. We can't help it: that's just the way we are.
> 
> We plan to add new work each weekend, so please subscribe. 
> 
> We also really appreciate the kudos and comments --they mean so much. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

John was sitting in the darkened room, struggling to breath comfortably in the heavily perfumed air around him. He had first met Madame Serena on a case and had found her very charming. Of course then he had known her as Anna Williams, the woman looking for the lost will of her grandfather. He hadn't known anything about her alter ego as a fortune teller. He had wanted to find her and ask her out, but it had been a bit difficult tracking her down, especially without letting Sherlock know. When he actually did find her, he was skeptical about going in. All of this fortune telling stuff seemed a bit sketchy, but finally he decided to go in and talk to her. No sense judging her on what she did for a living without getting to know her first.  

Casually deflecting his attempts at flirting with her, she convinced him to stay for a reading, on the house for having helped her so well during the case. It was all very cliché -- the burgundy table cloth, the crystal ball sitting in the middle of it, the deck of tarot cards in the corner -- and he was just about to get up and leave when she walked in and sat across from him. He tried not to laugh, biting his lip as he took in her odd robes and turban.  

"Don't laugh or I will see awful things about you," she warned, smiling lightly. 

"Oh, that's how it works, is it?" John asked, raising his brows.

"Quiet now," she said. She moved the crystal ball a bit to the side and pushed the cards in the middle instead. "Cut the deck, please."

John reached out and split the deck randomly. She put the cards left on the table back on top and pulled them closer to her, quietly flipping cards and making small noises. He waited, trying to guess what she was going to tell him when she was finally done. 

"Something dangerous is coming . . . or rather someone dangerous. You'll have to be extra careful."

John raised his brows again. She knew what kind of work Sherlock and he were in -- that's how they met for crying out loud. "I see."

She looked up and sighed. "You don't believe me?" 

"It's just . . .you know what sort of work I do so that was a rather obvious one," John said. 

"All right, then," she said, putting the cards away. John was about to apologise when she pulled the crystal ball back. "Wave you hand over this -- touch it."

John did as he asked, setting his hand on it and rubbing a couple circles before pulling his hand back. "Now what?" 

She threw him a look before leaning over it, waving her hands but never actually touching it. "Tea." 

John's brows furrowed. Was he supposed to believe she was predicting he was going to drink tea?

"'T . . .S," she continued, and he realised she meant initials. "Those are the initials of the dangerous man."

"That's all you can give me?" John asked, smiling now. 

"I can't control what I see! You don't believe me still, but that's fine. We'll see who has the last laugh when you finally find him. Now, if you're done mocking me . . ."

"I am not mocking you. I'm sorry," John said. "I came over because --"

"I know why you came over, John. I didn't need the crystal ball to tell me that." She smiled wide and started putting everything in its place again. "We'll see when you change your attitude."

Understanding that he was dismissed, John left. He stopped at the usual Chinese place on the way home, calling out to Sherlock as he hung his coat.

"You're twenty two minutes later than usual. Did you get yourself lost on the way home then?" Sherlock asked. Of course, it didn't really matter -- it's not like Sherlock was waiting on dinner, he wasn't even hungry. It's just that he was annoyed that he hadn't made as much progress on their recent case as he had hoped to. He followed John into the kitchen and sat down at the table, waiting for his plate to be set in front of him. "Will you look over my notes after we eat? I'm missing something -- perhaps you'll be able to find it," he said.    

"Sure," John nodded. "I went by to see Anna -- I thought maybe I could ask her out but she made me sit for a reading," he explained as he served up their dinner. He came to the table and was already sitting before he remembered the water. He got up and brought over two bottles. 

"Anna who? What do you mean 'reading'? Like I read people?" Sherlock asked. He took a bite and then startled fiddling with the food. "Thanks for dinner, by the way," he added and smiled a little.

"No, like a psychic reading," John said. 

"Oh right," Sherlock said. "And you believe in that business now? I really didn't take you for someone into that stuff, John Watson."

"I told you, I went in to ask her out and she forced me to sit. That was all," John said. 

"Sorry, John," Sherlock said, "I think I'm distracted. This case . . . it's irritating me. When are you two going out?" he asked but before John got a chance to answer, he added, "You're telling me you fancied her? She didn't seem your type . . . or have you narrowed down your criteria to just their being female and breathing?"

John rolled his eyes and focused on his food. "I want someone who interests me and makes me feel happy and good. And anyways, if you were listening at all to me, I told you I tried to ask her out and she did a reading instead. No date."

"Fine," Sherlock said. "Aren't I interesting? Don't I make you feel happy and good? I mean . . . when I listen which I usually do, you have to admit."

"Yes Sherlock, but it's different with you. You're married to your work," he said. "Besides, you're my best friend. It's different."

"Right, right, right," Sherlock said. "You mean sexual intercourse . . . I suppose I just don't get it. Don't you already have enough regular orgasms? You had at least three last week, presuming you only do it once when you take your so-called late night showers. Perhaps we wouldn't be struggling so much with this case if you didn't drain your energy so needlessly with such frequent masturbatory activities."

"Shut up," John said, getting up to put his leftovers away. "Sometimes when you name your little deductions, did you ever think that maybe you should keep them to yourself?" Perhaps it was the fact that Anna had blown him off, but he was in a sour mood and he didn't need Sherlock pointing out how lonely he was. "Where're the notes?" he asked.

"Sorry, John," Sherlock said genuinely. He felt bad when he didn't understand normal things -- which, of course, was all John's wanking was, a totally normal thing to do. But Sherlock didn't really get those desires. Or maybe he did and just deleted them before they became distracting. Regardless, he shouldn't have made John feel bad when really it was the case -- not John -- that was irritating him. He wondered if he should add that he was fine with John's masturbation but he was pretty sure that would sound different than how he actually meant it, so he decided to end the sex conversation there. He took his plate to the sink and then retrieved the notes.

He spread them out on the table. "Lestrade thinks it's him -- the husband," he said pushing one page towards John. "But I'm sure it's him -- the brother," he said slapping another page on top. "But quite frankly, I can't find something that he can take to court. It's just one of those I'm-sure-I'm-right things. Can you help?"

John was glad they had moved on from his sexual activities. He looked at the two pictures, then at their names in the corner of the pictures. Jake Mallison and Tony Salite. He did a double take and looked at the brother again. He dreaded having to explain himself, but he pointed to the brother. "I think he did it," John said quietly.

"And your evidence?" Sherlock asked. "Besides the fact that I agree and I'm usually right. We need something we can show Lestrade."

John shrugged. "Have the coroner double check time of death -- if they didn’t get it right the first time, maybe the husband has an alibi," he said.   
  
Sherlock thought for a moment. "So if the time we've been looking at is wrong, it means this stumbling block was someone else's fault, not mine. This is why you are a genius, John Watson." He rushed off an email to Lestrade and was so pleased that he didn't even pretend the idea was his own. He gave John full credit. He packed his stuff away and then looked over at John. "What are you doing for the rest of the evening then?" he said as he flopped onto the sofa.

"I don't have anything planned," John said. He was distracted, thinking about the initials -- what if she was right? No . . . it must be a coincidence.

"Fine, well, I'm going to bed," Sherlock said standing back up. "I have been thinking in lieu of sleeping and now -- hopefully, thanks to my genius flatmate -- I've got nothing left to think of. Good night." Sherlock glided into his bedroom and got ready for sleep.

"Oh, right then. Good night," John said. He had thought Sherlock had wanted to do something together. He turned and got himself up to bed, thinking about the initials. What would it mean if she was right? He tried to sleep and had strange dreams filled with crystal balls and a soft voice talking over him as he tried to run. Nothing made any sense at all.

Sherlock slept quite soundly as he often did once a case was solved. Of course, this one wasn't entirely solved, but John's suggestion made sense. And if the time wasn't wrong -- we'll, he'd deal with that then.

In the morning, Sherlock reached for his phone first but there was nothing from Lestrade. He hadn't really expected to hear immediately; a second autopsy would take time. Sherlock dragged his body into the bathroom and showered and then moved to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. He hadn't heard any noise from John yet so he didn't pour a second one, though he set his mug out. He moved over to his laptop and found there was a message from his website. He held his tea up to his face, letting the steam cover it, as he read the details.

Having finally been caught in his dream John woke up with a small gasp. He got out of bed and nipped into the bathroom before going to the kitchen for breakfast. "Any news yet?" he asked.

"No," Sherlock said looking up and motioning towards the kettle. "Maybe a new case. Are you off to work today?"

John deflated a bit as if his whole dream was for nothing. Then he realised how silly that was and he cursed Anna for getting into his head.  "Well, let me know, I suppose. I've got to head in shortly." He went upstairs to get ready for work, promising to bring home dinner on his way back. 


	2. A Celebratory Dinner

It wasn't until Thursday that Lestrade confirmed that the time of death estimate had been incorrect and that they had arrested the brother on suspicion of murder. He had been surprised that the husband had been cleared, commenting about the rarity of murder between siblings, before Sherlock reminded him that his brother was Mycroft Holmes and thus he had no difficulty in imagining a desire for such a murder. He hung up the phone feeling quite pleased with the world. John was still at work, but he sent a text to share the news.

_TOD was incorrect. John Watson was correct. Should we do something to celebrate this evening? SH_

John looked at the message after sending out his patient and grinned.

_What do you have in mind? -JW_

_You're the genius -- you decide. Thanks again, John. SH_

Sherlock paused -- it was uncharacteristically sentimental for him, even just the 'thanks' showed more emotion than Sherlock's words usually did -- but John deserved it. He knew that. He hit Send.

_Treat me to dinner -- a proper one. -JW_

After he sent it he decided he was going to go see Anna again so he sent another message.

_I'll text when I'm almost home. -JW_

_All right then. Don't get carried away though. You're only in charge for one night. SH_

Sherlock smiled a little. He was really grateful for John, he was -- he knew he should demonstrate that more, but that just wasn't how he was made. John knew that and hopefully accepted it. But Sherlock also knew he could perhaps try a little harder sometimes to give John back as much as John gave him. He headed off for a shower. 

John left work a bit early and went straight to Anna's again. He waited in the little reception area, flipping through the magazine there.

After his shower, Sherlock put the kettle on and sat back down at this desk. He skimmed through the notes for the new case and jotted down a list of questions he had for John. Hopefully, he'd have a day away from the surgery soon and Sherlock could have his full attention. He stood up to make tea and then noticed the time so decided to get dressed.  
  
John glanced at the curtain again and wondered who was in there. He didn't think she'd be so busy that he'd have to wait.

When Anna finally came out, walking with a woman who was still crying, she threw John a surprised look before pulling the curtain to motion him in.

"No, I can't stay this time, but I just wanted to tell you that --"

"That I was right about the initials?"

John shook his head. "How did you know?"

She merely smiled and didn't answer. "Sit down for another."

"I have to get home but I'll be back tomorrow," John said. She nodded once and raised her hand in a small wave.

_On my way. -JW_

"Oh Mr Watson, think on this: black and white, light and dark. I'll see you tomorrow," Anna called as John stepped out onto the pavement.  
  
Sherlock had got bored waiting for John and the fact that he was only now just texting made him feel even more bored. He got up and put the kettle on in case John wanted tea. In all honesty, it's not like Sherlock was hungry for dinner and that's why he felt put out. It's just . . . what? he asked himself. Why are you feeling annoyed? He realised it was just because he wanted John around; he wanted to celebrate and John was the one he wanted to celebrate with. He tried to shake himself out of his grumpy boredom and waited until he heard John's key in the door.

For the moment John filed away that last bit of information from Anna -- it was so vague he didn't know what else to do with it. He climbed up the steps quickly and didn't even bother taking his coat off when he walked in. "Sorry I'm late," he said, waiting by the door. "Are you ready to go?"  

"You took your time," Sherlock mumbled before standing up but quickly added, "Yes, where are we going? Do you not want to change your clothes or wash up or anything?"

"I didn't want to make you wait any longer -- do you think I need to change?" John asked, looking down at himself.

"No, you look fine," Sherlock said, smiling. "It's just . . . this is supposed to be a celebration and you seem a little frazzled, rushing in and saying 'let's get going' like we're in a rush. You solved the case, John. I want us to enjoy that." He moved over and slipped his coat on. "All right, let's go."

"Oh. No, I was just worried about you. I'm not rushed," John smiled.

"Good," Sherlock said, heading downstairs. "Then let's go celebrate. Where to?"  
  
"Let's try the new place that just opened -- I think it's Mediterranean," John said.

"Ooh, fancy," Sherlock laughed, looking over at John. "Or are you just trying it out on me so you know not take a date there in case it turns out bad? Is that it, John? Is that all I am to you -- a dry run so you know where not to take your dates? That's hurtful," he teased.

"No! Stop that," John laughed softly. "I am just curious about it and since you're treating I figured why not," he said.

"All right then," Sherlock said. "Just don't try any of your patented John Watson seduction techniques on me. From what I've seen of your dates, they'll just cause the evening to end early and unsatisfyingly." He smiled over at John, tapping his arm lightly.

"Sounds like you need me to show you a thing or two -- you're being awful," John teased. "Is this because I solved the case?"

"Possibly," Sherlock said cheekily. "I wouldn't want you getting too big for your boots, now would I? Besides, when I solve the cases, I always get to be the boss of things, so it's really kind of your responsibility to show me a good time, since your needs are always my number one concern when I'm in charge. You should follow my past examples."

John laughed loudly. "If I were to act like you I'd shut myself in my room, smoke six packs of cigarettes and then call you an idiot before I fell asleep."

Sherlock smiled. "Is that what we're doing when we get home then? Excellent plan, John, I love it." He opened the door for John at the restaurant, letting him lead them in.

John rolled his eyes again and went to a table in the back. "I'm sorry if you hate it," he said, scanning his menu. 

"I don't hate it -- why would you think I hated it?" Sherlock said, looking over the menu as well. "Why do you have to paint me as so negative, John? I'm the one who wanted to celebrate, remember? That's why I got drunk before you even got home -- because I plan on partying until dawn." He kept the menu up in front of his face, which meant he couldn't see John's reaction, even though he really wanted to.

"You are not drunk!" John said. "Are we having an all-nighter then? I am not prepared for that."

"Well, get prepared, John. This is what it's like being a genius -- you'd better get used to it," Sherlock said, setting down his menu. "Are we getting wine then or what?"

"We can -- sorry, because you're a genius, suddenly you party all night? I have literally never seen you do that," John grinned.

"I know you haven't because instead of taking me out to celebrate like I am doing for you, you take out some woman you don't even like and who never solved a case in her life and then you try to shag her. I just have to sit at home alone in the dark partying all night, which, believe it or not, is not quite as fun as it sounds," Sherlock said.

John's smile faltered a bit. "Are you being serious? I thought . . . you could have told me you wanted to celebrate. I can plan around that," he said.

"Whatever, John, I'm just kidding, I guess," Sherlock said, looking over the wine list. "I know that stuff is important to you . . . it's fine. We see each other enough, right?"

"Yes but . . .don't say it like that," John said. He felt really guilty now. "You know I like spending time with you . . ."

"On cases, you mean," Sherlock said.

"Not only cases -- is that what you really think?" John asked, looking over at him.

"No, I don't think so . . . I mean," Sherlock said, "well, when we don't have a case, you call those your 'free nights' and say you want to take advantage of them by going out and you always mean with a woman . . . not me." He looked over the menu again, just to avoid having to look at John.

John's brows furrowed lightly. Was Sherlock jealous of those women -- of the fact that John wasn't asking him out? He couldn't be -- Sherlock didn't like dating. He was married to his work. John was the opposite, craving human interaction, human touch. He gasped softly. Opposites -- black and white, light and dark! No! Now he was going too far. "Sherlock . . . what do you mean?"

"I just told you what I mean," Sherlock said. "What's wrong with your face?"

"What? Nothing is wrong with my face," John said quickly. "Are you messing with me again?"

"I don't understand what we are talking about. I was just trying to explain and then your face went weird and you asked me what I meant which was precisely what I was telling you. Are you just trying to confuse me to show your genius is better than mine?" Sherlock said. He looked up as the waiter brought the wine. He was glad they had something else to focus on.

"You said -- you're making it sound like you want me to ask you on a date," John said. "But you said yourself you don't do that sort of thing -- you said you're married to your work." He pulled his wine close and took a big sip.

So, Sherlock thought, they were still going to talk about this. "Well, I wasn't asking you to marry me, John," he tried to explain, "but, you know, I guess . . . I thought we were . . . friends or something. But maybe I was wrong, I'm not good at that kind of stuff. Maybe I just got the wrong idea."

"We are friends! Sherlock, of course we are!" John sighed and didn't know if he was relieved or even more stressed than before. "Look, if you were to ask me to go out with you -- to celebrate or whatever -- I would do it in a heartbeat. The only reason I haven't is because I thought you didn't like that sort of thing. I'm sorry."  

"Fine, can we stop talking about this now, please? It's stepping on my buzz," Sherlock said, smiling lightly and taking another sip of wine.

"Fine, but I really hope you believe me, Sherlock." John took another big sip, swirling the wine in his glass for something to do. 

"Are you saying you're going to start inviting me on your dates then? Is that what you're saying, John?" Sherlock asked.

"No, not on my . . .I mean, we can just go out. Celebrate or whatever," he said. He had officially lost his mind. Was he asking Sherlock on a date right now?

"Aren't we doing that right now? Though I do have to say, John, I'm not exactly having fun yet. I was thinking this would be really fun," Sherlock said. "It's not that fun. Is this what it's always like when you go out? I was jealous that you were having fun, but this is kind of boring with all the awkward talk and everything." 

"It's fun when I know what the intentions are. I thought I was out with my friend and now suddenly . . . it's a date . . .I think . . ." He trailed off and flushed lightly, staring at his wine. What on earth was happening?

"We're not on a date, you idiot," Sherlock said. "Where on earth did that come from? We're two friends who work together and just completed a case and we were supposed to be celebrating. I don't know what's going on with you tonight, John." He paused and looked up as the server set the food down. When she'd left, he added, "Are you sure _you_ didn't get drunk before dinner?"

"You just said -- never mind," John said, bringing his food close and focusing on that. "I don't want to talk about it anymore."

"Can't we just . . . have fun?" Sherlock asked quietly.

John paused and took a small, slow breath. "We were until you got all . . . serious," he pointed out.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Well, let's go back to the fun stuff," he said. "Do something fun then."

"You called me an idiot even though it was my turn to be in charge tonight," John smiled. "I think I'm going to take away your tea drinking rights for a whole day."

"Fine, you do that, smartie pants," Sherlock said, smiling. "I'll be too drunk to care about tea anyway." He poured himself another glass of wine and then fiddled with his food. "Do you like this place then?"

"I do," John nodded, properly digging into his own meal.

"Yes, it's all right, I suppose," Sherlock said. "Nice ambiance, as they say," he added, laughing a little at the way he pronounced the word, before trying to straighten his face to say, "I'm sorry if I ruined our celebration." 

"You didn't -- we can still keep celebrating," John smiled. "I'm glad that you like it as well."

Sherlock didn't quite believe him: he wasn't sure exactly what he'd said wrong, but John's reaction had been kind of strange and Sherlock worried that this was precisely why John went away from him to have fun. He wished John would've introduced the next topic of conversation, but he hadn't, so Sherlock scanned his mind for something that was not 'serious'. Finally, he decided on, "You never said what she had told you -- Anna, I mean. Didn't you say she gave you a reading? What'd she tell you? Are we going to win the lottery now or something?"

John flushed lightly and shrugged. "Don't laugh, okay? She told me about the case -- only I didn't know that then. She saw the initials and that's why when I saw them I knew -- thought -- it was him," he explained. He looked down at his food while he spoke, taking another bite right after.

"Wait -- what?" Sherlock said, looking up quickly. "You mean, when you said you agreed with me, it wasn't because of anything . . . logical? It was because of something some fortune teller told you? John, I . . ."

"Well I mean -- I saw them and I just gave it a shot. It was still right." John said.

"I don't know, John," Sherlock said. "I'm . . . I'm a little disappointed, I guess." He could hear his voice and the words he was saying, and he knew that in no way could they be described as sounding 'fun'.

John stomach twisted. He would have preferred being laughed at to this. "I'm sorry . . ." he said quietly, shrugging lightly and mixing his food around.

"No . . . I'm sorry, I guess," Sherlock said. "I mean, you _were_ right so I guess it doesn't matter, but . . . on future cases, maybe you should clarify when your reasoning is based on something a psychic said rather than logic or your medical training." Sherlock had meant that to be an apology to lighten the mood, but he was pretty sure it hadn't come out that way. 

"Right . . . I mean, I know it's silly -- just a coincidence probably. I'm not going to do that again anyways," he said. It wasn't exactly a lie -- he wouldn't tell Sherlock if something was based off of what she said. He was going to go again though. He was intrigued. But Sherlock didn't need to know that either, not at the moment anyways. "Anyways, it took him a long time to get back to you -- did the autopsy take longer than expected?" 

"I think it took awhile for Lestrade to convince them to do it again. You know medical people -- they like to think they're always right. It's a good thing I didn't mention the request was motivated by the words of a mystic," he teased. "Anyway, we'll see what comes of the arrest. Let's not talk about work, though." He realised he wasn't quite sure what else they could talk about. "Um . . . have you heard from your sister recently?" he said, though as soon as he did, he remembered this wasn't necessarily a 'fun' topic either.

John shook his head. "You know she never calls first and I have been too busy. Or pretending to be." He shrugged again and went back to eating. "Maybe I will try her this weekend. Has Mycroft bothered you today?"  

"Mycroft bothers me everyday, regardless of whether or not we speak," Sherlock said. "But I haven't heard from him for a couple days. I'm sure he'll call when he needs us." He drank a little more wine. "Okay, let's try something different. If money and responsibility were not issues, what would you do tonight? If you could do literally anything -- what would it be?"

"Travel. Nowhere specific -- I just want to see new places," John said.

"Okay, let's pick somewhere. Where should we go?" Sherlock said, hoping he'd finally stumbled onto something good.

"Hmm . . . let's start with Italy," John smiled. "Imagine the food there."

"Are we going to be eating this entire trip or doing some sightseeing as well?" Sherlock asked, smiling. "My family went once when I was younger. I could show you around the places we saw," he said.

"Yeah," John grinned. "I didn't know you've been before. Where else have you been?"

"A few places I suppose," Sherlock said. "France, Spain, America. I'm not sure I'd necessarily want to go back to any of them though. If I were in charge of our trip this evening -- which I'm not, you are -- I might not even leave the country."

"And what would you do, if you were in charge tonight?" John asked, looking up at him. 

"Well, drunkenness obviously," Sherlock laughed. "And then we could take a train up north to a place I used to go when I was a child. My grandparents had a little cottage in a tiny village with very few people. I wouldn't want to be around people. Except you. You're all right."

"Lucky me," John said, really meaning it. "That sounds really nice," he smiled.

"There's a little country pub there," Sherlock said. "It's nice because everyone is friendly -- I mean, they smile hello or whatever, but they don't make you talk to them. We could sit outside and just listen to the silence." He felt his face redden and then realised he was being a bit daft. "Well, that doesn't really sound like much fun, does it? Not like the kind of fun you like at least." 

"I . . .it sounds great," John admitted, looking down at his food again. That sounded really great, but he could tell Sherlock had got embarrassed. Why? First the date business and now this. He didn't know what to say.

"Look," Sherlock said, "I know we're different, John, and I'm sorry for making a big fuss about your going out all the time. This has been a nice celebration, I've enjoyed it. The food, the wine, the company -- everything was very nice." He pushed his plate to the side a little and finished his glass. "It's been a good night." He looked up for the server. He was pretty sure he was ready to leave.

John felt like he couldn't really believe him, but he nodded and pushed his own plate back as well. "Thanks for taking me out," John said.

"Thanks for finding the thing that could prove me right," Sherlock said. He took some money out of his wallet, left it on the table and then stood up to leave.

As they walked, Sherlock said, "I'm glad you've come along in my life, John. I don't just mean for the flat and all. I mean, you really do help with cases and your blog's drawn in new clients so . . . thanks for all that." He smiled over at him.

"Oh, yeah," John said, rubbing his neck. "Thanks for bringing me along," he said.

"Well, you're welcome," Sherlock said. He went quiet and thought for a few minutes -- things hadn't gone quite as he'd expected, though to be fair, he wasn't quite sure what he'd expected. "I could really use a cup of tea," he said, as he unlocked the flat and moved to the kitchen to put the kettle on. "You working tomorrow?" he asked. 

"I am," John said. "Want me to make it?"

"No, I'm all right -- you're still the boss tonight," Sherlock said. "Are we going to bed now? I mean, is our evening over? The wine'll probably make it easy for me to sleep again."

"It doesn't have to be," John said. "We could play a game or watch a film or something. Or go to bed. I'm not good at being the boss -- you can pick," John smiled.

"Is this the way you end your dates usually?" Sherlock asked, smiling. "We could watch some telly, I guess." He brought the mugs over and sat down on the sofa. "You pick though. It's my night off from being in charge."

"Okay," John agreed, bringing the remote over all could sit with Sherlock on the sofa. He flipped through until he found an old movie. "I suppose this works." 

Sherlock settled in and watched the movie for a bit. Eventually he said, "Do you wish you had gone out with a woman tonight then? I suppose I can't really compare with a date, though our evening will end the same -- in separate beds." He smiled so John knew he was teasing him.

"Ha, ha." John rolled his eyes and leaned back. "No. I had a good time tonight -- mostly -- so I am happy I didn't go out."

"I'm glad," Sherlock said. "I'll try to get better at being your type of fun." He looked forward at the television, before yawning and then stretching a bit.

John hated when Sherlock said things like that -- as if somehow he felt unimportant to John when the opposite was true. He got more comfortable and looked over at him, smiling. "I always have fun with you," he said. He faced the telly again, drumming his fingers lightly on the sofa.  

"I'm glad," he said, looking over and smiling even though he didn't really believe him. Sherlock thought about John. He wasn't quite sure he actually understood it, but he did really like John. Just being around John was kind of fun for Sherlock. He watched the end of the film and then stretched a bit. "I think I might go to bed," he said. 

"Yeah, okay. Me too," he said, turning the telly off. "I have to get up early."

Sherlock carried the mugs into the kitchen. "And I just might sleep in all day. We're opposites -- like light and dark. You will go out tomorrow and work and be social, and I'll sleep in and then do my experiments and talk to no one. But I suppose we've found a balance because, despite our differences, we mostly get along and occasionally even have fun together. It works. I'm glad." He smiled. "See you tomorrow," he added, before disappearing into his bedroom.

John froze at the words light and dark, standing there until he realised that not only had Sherlock continued talking but that he was gone now. He went up to his own room, and made a mental note to ask Anna about that. Was her cryptic message about Sherlock and him? Why? What did it mean?


	3. John's Cards Try Again

In his room, Sherlock immediately got into bed. He was hoping that the wine he had earlier might make sleep easier than usual. He tried to close down his mind, but it was difficult. He wondered why he hadn't heard from Lestrade about the questioning of the husband. He wondered about the case he was working on. He wondered if John was going out on a date tomorrow.

John was up thinking about those words for a long time. He hardly slept and when he woke up for work, he was exhausted. He saw patients slowly and when he finally got his break, he fell asleep at his desk. By the time he woke up, he had to hurry through patients that had appointments and send away those that didn't. When he left he almost forgot about seeing Anna, but the reminder of those words livened him up a bit. He turned and headed straight to her shop.

Sherlock did sleep in. Whether it was the wine or not, he wasn't sure but he woke up groggy and grumpy. It took three cups of tea before he was ready to face the day (but certainly not the world). Eventually he showered and got dressed and felt a little more human. He checked his email -- still nothing from Lestrade -- and got to work on his project.

John stepped inside and once again he had to wait to be seen. He didn't flip through a magazine this time, sitting on the edge of his seat and drumming his fingers on his knee again. 

"I knew you'd come back," Anna said as she emerged from behind a curtain. "You're curious and clever." She smiled as they sat down. "I can tell you've got something specific in mind today. But remember, John, I don't have the answer. If I did, I would've found my grandfather's will myself, wouldn't I? If anything, all I offer is questions -- the right questions -- and _you_ find the answers. I gave you some initials and _you_ discovered what they meant. Now . . . yesterday I got an image of light and dark. I'm guessing since you've returned, you haven't found the answer to that one yet, am I right?"

"I think . . . I need more about that before I make up my mind. Because really, it can't possibly be what I think it is," he said. 

"Don't say more," Anna said. She set the deck of cards out in front of John and waited for him to cut it. Then she laid three cards out in a deliberate pattern and stared down at them. "I don't _think_ it's good and evil -- the light and dark business, I mean. And I'm not seeing the cards I usually see when it's related to your career. These are all about personal relationships -- family, friends, friends who feel like family . . ." She glanced up at John. ". . . love." She made a few noises as she stared down and then looked up at John.

"You've got the Two of Cup here -- this suggests a relationship between two people. But it could also be about two parts of the same person. Do you have dark and light parts of your personality? Don't answer -- let me keep talking and you make what you want of it. Okay, next to that card is The Hanged Man, which represents you, where you are at the moment, but don't panic -- it's not what you think. It's about letting go and accepting, even if it means a sacrifice of some sort. See -- he's hanging but he's smiling. Let's say you want something -- a promotion maybe or a wife -- struggling so hard to get it is not working for you. Letting go of that dream, though, may open your eyes to what you really want. The Hanging Man has found himself totally vulnerable but still strong; he's given up his old way of looking at things and now he sees more clearly." She glanced up at John.

"This card represents the future or result. A person -- family member maybe, friend . . . someone important. It's the Chariot. It's a symbol of war, control, obviously, but it's not total control, like the Emperor," she said, digging through the pack and showing John that card. "The Emperor suppresses emotions, but the Chariot, because it's of the water element, doesn't. This card has discipline -- emotions can't be ignored but must be kept in check. Think of this way: the horses are the emotions. Without the horses, the chariot can't move forward. But without the reins to control the horses, the chariot would crash." She sat back in her chair. "Light and dark -- positive and negative emotions, maybe? I don't know . . . to be fair, all the cards have light and dark aspects to them so I'm not sure any of this is helpful to that conundrum."

John almost interrupted several times but she always stopped him, talking on and on. John was sure it was just because of the comment Sherlock had made before bed, but Sherlock was already on his mind when she started talking -- even when he cut the deck -- and everything that had followed drove that same point more and more into his head. The relationship between two people so opposite, just like him and Sherlock. The Hanged Man, struggling to let go -- that had to mean him, fighting his sexuality? Didn't it? What did letting go of his dream of a wife open his eyes to? Sherlock. Sherlock, who had every quality of the kind of date John was looking for. And more. So much more. And then the Chariot -- Sherlock was all about control. Sherlock even controlled John. Calling him home from dates or stopping him from going to work . . . almost always for cases, always to share something that was so important to him. Things he wanted to share with John. And John let him have that control.

_Are you insane? None of this is real!_ But what else could it mean? He tried to think logically -- he tried to break it down in his head. He had a relationship with Mrs Hudson but hardly well enough to be considered his other half. In fact, she was hellbent on believing that John was already in a relationship with Sherlock. Lestrade and Molly and Mike -- even his family -- he wasn't close enough to any of them. But Sherlock . . . they were always together. And the last one -- no one had that pull on him that Sherlock did. Sherlock's logic reined in John's emotions. Together, they were balanced. He covered his face and rubbed it hard before looking over at her.  

"Is this . . . is that all?" he asked, looking down at the cards again. "Is it always left up to the customer to put the story together? I mean . . . you can't give me anything more specific?" 

Anna smiled a little. "You're not stupid, John. If I could give you something specific, don't you think I'd just 'read' what the lottery numbers will be and be on the next plane to Paris?" She leaned a little bit forward on her chair. "Here are a couple thoughts for you, though. First, will you tell me honestly why you stopped by that first day?"

"I was thinking about asking you out," John said, shrugging his shoulders. "You kept talking over me," he smiled lightly.  

"Well, that's as may be, but I notice that you still haven't asked me out. Perhaps you were put off by the fortune telling stuff? Fair enough, many of my dates are once they find out. However, you've come back twice and still there's been no mention of a date. That's not why you came today. You came today because you've been thinking about something, and it's bothering you. Maybe it's something new or scary, and you want to be wrong about it. That's why you came here -- for me to tell you you're wrong. You don't even believe in this stuff, but there's a little bit of you that would have been relieved to be told you've got it all wrong. But I can't, John, I can only say what the cards say. And what they tell me is that there's something that's turned your head -- your life, maybe -- upside down, just like the Hanging Man. Struggling against it, though, is going to leave you with a broken neck. Do what you want about it, but stop struggling."

"I'm . . . it's not that easy," John said, shaking his head. "Everything I know . . . how do I just let all of that go?" He felt odd asking her these things. She was essentially a complete stranger yet somehow that actually made it easier to talk.

"Well, through acceptance, I guess. The Two of Cups card has to do with love, but it's usually about something new. I mean there's also a Lovers card which is more about perfection, and that didn't come up. So whatever the union is -- between you and someone else or just between different parts of you -- it's new and the best way to ensure its stability starts with you accepting yourself. I mean, you don't have to have special powers to know that you've got to love yourself before you can love someone else, right? So I guess if you want the cards to tell you what to do, they're telling you to accept whatever it is you're struggling with and this will open you up to new possibilities. Does that make any sense at all?"

John nodded, looking down at the cards again.  His biggest worry was changing everything he thought about himself because of three little cards and then realising he'd had been wrong. _But it's not just the cards. You've been thinking this -- it must have been somewhere in your head already for it to come out so easily._ He tried to imagine what he would say to Sherlock. He'd have to be truthful, but god, how would Sherlock respond if he thought John believed all this and was using it to make advances on him?

"What if everything is wrong? What if I mess everything up?" he said, looking up at her again.

"Well, if you're saying this involves another person, that was the Chariot card. That person is more disciplined than you, I'd say. But don't think they're the Emperor -- don't think they don't have emotions, they do. They just have more control over them. The key is balance, I suppose. Don't go storming in like a pack of wild horses, because that's not the way of the Chariot. Here, look," she reached over for the card and pushed it towards John. "It's got the word Abracadabra on it. Makes you think of magic, right? Well, that phrase actually means 'What I have said will be done' or 'As it is said, so it shall be.' Think about your words carefully and if you say what you really want . . . so it shall be."

John looked up and held her gaze, trying to read any kind of mocking in her eyes. She seemed sincere about this -- she really believed it all and it was contagious. This _had_ to mean something. "Thank you, Anna." He stood and pulled out his wallet, giving her double for the two sessions he'd now had. As he left he thought about Sherlock again, trying to plan what he was going to say in his head. But first he needed dinner . . . he didn't want either of them going out tonight.

He stopped by Angelo's and picked up their usual, taking a candle home as well. He felt silly -- like everything was going to come out of nowhere and go terribly wrong. Maybe he should have warned Sherlock first, but what would he have said? Straight to the point was probably the best way to go.

"Sherlock? I'm home," John called, setting the table as he waited for him to come out.

Sherlock was in his room -- sprawled out on his bed reading. He had gone in there to look for something and then discovered an old notebook he'd kept. He hadn't seen it in years, so he started reading it and lost track of the time. He also had forgotten what he came in to look for. When he heard John's voice, he set the notebook down and came out.

"Your day okay?" he asked and then noticed the food and smiled. "Thanks for bringing this in . . . I've not really eaten, you may be unsurprised to know."

John smiled lightly. "I figured as much but really I just thought this would be nice," he explained. "Will you sit down with me? I have something to tell you." He sat down before Sherlock had answered, playing with his plate and the silverware nervously.

Sherlock looked over cautiously. His brain quickly went to the possible topics of conversation, but the first thing that came to mind was that John was annoyed with him and was moving out. Sherlock's stomach felt funny. He didn't want it to be that. He knew, of course, that it could be anything -- maybe John had been promoted or needed to borrow money or met the Queen on his walk home from work and just wanted to tell Sherlock about it. But all he could imagine in the few seconds it took him to walk over and sit down at the table is that John was upset with him, and he hated the feeling. He made a little cough and tried to keep his face neutral. "What's up then?" he asked.

"I . . . before I tell you the whole story I want you to keep in mind that I've been thinking about this before, okay? Do you promise to remember that?" John looked up and met his eyes, trying not to look so nervous. He doubted it was working.

Sherlock's heart sunk. Yes, John definitely was ready to leave. John had been thinking about it before and after the awkward conversations of last night, now he knew it was time to go. Sherlock thought he might throw up, but instead he said, "Fine, you've been thinking about this for a while. Go on." He looked down at his food.

"I . . . well . . . I am pretty sure that I've fallen in love with you," he said. He looked down at his own food. "I've noticed I skip work each time you ask and that I ditch my dates more easily lately and when I manage to go on one I'm disappointed because they're not . . . they're not you. And I went back to Anna and she told me some things that sort of . . . cleared it all up . . ." He glanced up at Sherlock and then played with his fork again. "I know you think that's all silly -- but it's helped me realise that . . . that I love you, Sherlock."

Sherlock had not been expecting that.


	4. John Tells Sherlock

"So a crystal ball convinced you?" Sherlock asked.

John shook his head. "It was the cards -- I cut the deck and she laid some out and when she explained . . . everything I had been shoving aside just . . . made sense."

"And what cards did you get then? The Lovers -- was that one?"

"No," John said, surprised Sherlock knew a specific one. "It was the Two Cups, the Hanging Man, and the Chariot. She said they represented a relationship between two people, a struggle to let go and accept, and someone who had control over their feelings -- better than I do." It all sounded even crazier coming from his own mouth, and he hoped he hasn't just ruined everything.

"I see," Sherlock said. "And you think you're the Hanged Man and I'm the Chariot then? Is that how you're interpreting things?"

John opened his mouth and then closed it again, thinking carefully. He had jumped into this with only a few minutes' thought. He knew how he felt about Sherlock -- he might as well own it. "Yes. That's how I interpret them and that's what made me see how I feel about you."

"I'm just wondering why you didn't consider that I might be the Hanged Man? Or was this her interpretation based on the layout of the cards? Did she do a Three Card Spread?"

"There were three cards but she said -- I just assumed since it was my reading." He hadn't considered the cards talking about Sherlock.

"No, I'm sure you're right . . . it was your reading so that makes sense. Well, this is a surprise . . . and I feel like I should say something about your admission. We should talk about it," Sherlock said. "But I'm not sure what to say right at this moment."

"Okay. I know it's sudden and that you don't really do this sort of thing . . . just take your time." John mixed his food around, still not having taken a single bite from it. His stomach was a twisted mess.

"I have . . . feelings, you know, John," Sherlock said, looking down at his food. "Don't think I don't."

"Of course you do," John said quickly. "I just meant the relationship stuff -- you said you didn't do relationships."

"Yes, you're right, that's what I said," Sherlock said. He pushed his food around his plate, put a forkful into his mouth and then swallowed it down without really chewing so that he made a little cough. "Well, I'll have a think about what you've said. As you should . . . I mean, I know you said you've been thinking about this before the cards -- I do listen when you talk, you know -- but let's both have a little think, shall we?" He looked up at John. "I don't know how these things work. Is it possible for us to act like we normally do now or. . .does it have to be weird?"

"I-I don't want it to be weird. I just want us to be okay. Whatever you decide about your feelings for me, I still want us to be okay." 

"Good, that's what I want," Sherlock said. "For it to be okay . . . I mean." He finished his meal, trying to have a normal look on his face. When he pushed his plate to the side, he said, "I'm working on this other thing. Perhaps you could have a look?"

John nodded. "Yeah, sure," he said, glad that it wasn't too awkward. Well, it was a little bit but he was sure they would be okay. Helping with experiments he could do. 

Sherlock walked John through the project he was working on. He tried to be normal though he did find himself looking at John in a slightly different way. He tried to push all that out of his mind for now. He could think about it later. They worked for a while and eventually he realised he was tired. "I think I'd like to quit this for the night," he said, yawning. "Should we have another cup of tea before bed?"

John shook his head. "No, I'm all right. I think I am going to lie down now."

"All right then, I'll see you in the morning," Sherlock said, glancing up at him. "And John . . . thanks for being honest with me about . . . you know. We can talk tomorrow, yeah?"  
  
John flushed lightly and nodded. "Yeah. We can when I come home from work -- it's a short day," he said. He raised his hand in a small wave and headed up, his mind racing about what he'd admitted. It hadn't gone like he thought it would at all but it could have been so much worse.

Sherlock took his cup of tea into his bedroom. He got into bed and turned out the light, holding the warm mug up to his face. He felt it flush from the heat, but he also wondered if it was because he was a bit overwhelmed by what John had said. It was surprising.

Of course, Sherlock loved John. Of course he did -- that had to be obvious to everyone. But John had said _in love_ and Sherlock didn't know quite what being in love felt like. He wished he had someone to talk to, but John was the only one he'd ever think of talking to feelings about. But that wouldn't work this time. He'd have to figure it out himself so he could talk honestly to John. He thought about all they'd been through and almost all of it make him smile. He fell asleep thinking of those memories, without having made any decision.

When John got up for work he dressed quickly, wanting to get out of the flat so Sherlock could think without him there. He made up a mug of tea for Sherlock before leaving, deciding to walk to get his own thoughts together. He knew the talk was coming and he wanted to be at least a little bit prepared.

Sherlock woke up but the flat seemed quiet. Eventually he got up and saw the tea John had made for him. It made him smile but then feel confused again. And then he had an idea. He knew someone he could talk to. He got dressed and left the flat.


	5. Sherlock's Cards

"Sherlock Holmes," Anna said as she pushed through the curtains. "I knew I'd see you here."  
  
"Very clever," he said sarcastically.

"Sit down," she commanded and strangely Sherlock did without even thinking about it.

"I need to know if I'm in love," he said softly.

John was finally going on his lunch, staying in his office while he ate. He pulled his phone out to text Sherlock and then remembered their talk. Did he text him and act normal or did he give him some space to think? After going back and forth for five minutes he stuffed the phone into his pocket and continued eating. Maybe Sherlock would text him.

Anna stared at Sherlock for a moment wondering how she had become the one helping these men through this. "I assume John spoke with you yesterday -- do you want a reading as well?"

"Yes, please," Sherlock said. "Are you going to use the Five Card Spread?" he asked.

Anna raised her brows lightly -- it was strange being in the middle of whatever this was -- but she brought the cards closer and waited for Sherlock to cut them. "How do you know about the spread? You don't seem the type," Anna said.

"I'm not," Sherlock said, as he cut the deck. "But my grandmother was. So I know a bit about them."

Anna laid out the cards. First was the Hanging Man, then the Emperor to the left and Temperance to the right. Underneath the first card was the Ten of Cups and above she laid The Lovers. "Do you remember what they mean or do you want me to read them?" she asked.

"Well, the first one . . . it's the present and it's John, isn't it? He said he got the Hanging Man, too, and he said it was him. The Emperor is the past -- yes, I can figure out what that one means. I don't remember the other two, but I suppose The Lovers is self-explanatory," Sherlock said.

"And the Emperor's reversed as well. It's a strong influence -- excessive control and inflexibility. Temperance is in the future position. It means balance, really, two that need to be one -- harmony. And the Ten of Cups is the reason you've asked this question. It's happiness, serenity -- and a reminder not to squander it. Don't forget, though, the Lovers . . . yes, it means love, but it's in the potential position -- a fire can ignite passion but also consume and destroy," Anna said. She looked up now. "I don't think you need my help in understanding what this is telling you, do you, Sherlock Holmes?" She smiled at him.

"No," Sherlock said, "I do not." He reached into his wallet and laid down some money on the table, before standing up at walking back to the flat. He put the kettle on and took out his phone.

_I'll be ready to talk when you get home. SH_

John moved for his phone so quickly that the woman in his office thought he was trying to take her picture. He half-heartedly tried to convince her that was not happening but he was too busy reading the text. And then Sarah came in. "John, please tell me you weren't trying to take a picture of Mrs Armstead . . ."

"What? No! No, I got a text and -- "

"Sherlock Holmes?" she asked, raising her brows. When she had first met Sherlock, she thought he was a bit odd but the more John ran off to join him for cases, the more she realised that date night with John was probably normal behaviour for the two of them. "New case?"

John looked over at her and then thought of his appointments. "I only have three more patients . . ."

"I will take them. Go on." 

John grabbed his jacket and kissed her cheek before hurrying for the door, thanking her as he left. He was so focused on getting home he forgot to text Sherlock that he was on his way. He tossed his jacket on the stair railing and hurried up the steps. Then he paused. He took a deep breath, shook his hands as if that would shake the nerves off, and stepped into their flat. "Sherlock?" 

Sherlock looked up from his desk sharply. "What's wrong, John -- what's happened?" He stood up quickly, his heart jumping.

"Nothing," John said, furrowing his brows. "Nothing is wrong. You said . . . you said you were ready to talk and I only had three people left so I passed them off and I came home," he explained. 

"Oh," Sherlock said, sitting back down. "Oh, I thought something horrible happened." He motioned over to the kettle. "Let's make another cup of tea . . . it feels like there's a pressure now to have this talk. I don't want it to feel like that. Let's have a cup of tea first."

John nodded. "Sorry. I didn't mean to worry you or make your nervous," he said, moving to the kitchen with him. 

Sherlock turned and smiled. "It's all right," he said as he poured the tea. "How was work anyway?"

"It was all right. A bit slow," he said. "Did you have a good day?"

"I did," Sherlock said, moving into the other room and sitting down in his chair. He took a long sip of tea and then set his mug down. "We said we'd both have a think before we talked. Have you had a think? Are you sure what you said last night still stands? It's all right if you've changed your mind, but now is your chance to say."

John nodded. "What I said still stands. And also if you don't feel the same way I don't want anything to change. I can keep being your friend without things being . . . strange."

Sherlock wasn't sure that was quite true, but ultimately it didn't matter. Instead, he said, "I have also had a think, John. Obviously I love you. You and your feelings . . . and whatnot . . . it all matters to me." He looked down at the mug on the table and then continued quietly. "Loving you's never been in question -- I could have and probably should have clarified that last night, but I was just thrown a bit by . . . the whole thing. But during my think, I realised that it's not just that you matter. You're the _only_ one who matters to me. You're kind of . . . everything to me." He picked up the mug he'd been staring at and took another sip. "Having never been in love before, I wasn't sure how it felt so I was unable to recognise it. But yes, that's what's going on. That's what's happening here, between us . . . in this flat." Even Sherlock didn't understand what the last bit of his little speech meant -- he had no idea why he'd mention the flat -- but he was pretty sure he'd covered what he'd needed to say. He set the mug down again.

John blinked at him for a few seconds before stepping closer. "You're everything to me, too," he said quietly. He moved closer and touched his cheek lightly, willing him to look up.

Sherlock looked up. "All right now . . . just . . . just sit down," he said softly. "Well, what does this all mean then? I presume you won't be going out on dates now but . . . how are things going to change?"

John almost sat down in his lap but Sherlock still seemed to be trying to grasp the whole idea. John pulled the chair close and sat there instead. "Well . . . we will go on dates now," he suggested.

"How will those be different than what we did last night?" Sherlock asked. "Or will it be like that?"

"It'll be like that but . . . but more because it means something more now." John realised the only thing they weren't doing that couples did was sex. Should he say that? He didn't know how Sherlock felt about things like that. "We could be more . . . show our love physically."

"Do you mean sex? If you mean sex, say sex," Sherlock said.

"Not just that -- holding hands, kissing, cuddling -- all of that," John said.

"But sex as well, right?"

John nodded. "Sex as well," he said. "If you want that stuff."

"Yes, I imagine I do," Sherlock said. He wasn't sure why his words kept coming out so strangely. "Am I . . . am I going to have to change, John? You know -- to be more fun like you like so I don't ruin our dates like I ruined last night?"

John smiled softly. "No Sherlock, you don't have to change."

"Good," Sherlock said, "but I imagine I might." He took a sip of tea. "I can't be exactly the same, can I? I have to . . . treat you better. Just be better."

"You treat me fine! What do you mean?" John asked.

"I mean," Sherlock said. He swallowed. "I mean, I need to show my emotions more and . . . look after you more, I guess is what I mean."

John smiled softly and nodded. "Okay. But I want you to know that I'm happy with you, Sherlock, and you don't have to change."

"Well, you'll probably change as well, you know," Sherlock said. "This is a big thing, John, you mustn't pretend it's not."

"I know, but it'll be good changes."

"I hope so, John," Sherlock said and sat quietly for a few minutes. "So what do we do now?"

"We can do whatever we want," John smiled wider. He felt like a weight was lifted from his chest.

"Have you had sex with a man before?" Sherlock asked. "Sorry -- I guess that's what I want to do now, talk about the sex stuff, I mean."

John thought about his answer for a second. "I've done some things," he said vaguely.

"Okay, vague but okay, I'm not sure I want to know the details anyway," Sherlock said. "Unlike some porn addicts who live in this flat, I'm not particularly interested in the details of other people's sex lives. I just wondered if there was going to be an issue . . . are you saying there won't be an issue?"

John rolled his eyes lightly. "No, there shouldn't be an issue. What kind of issue? Have you had sex with a man before? Every detail please, I have a problem," he teased, smiling lightly.

"I mean you getting weirded about the gay thing. I have had sex with a man before and I don't want to tell you every detail because I don't like thinking about it and I don't want you to have to think about it," Sherlock said. "If you would like to have sex with a man, I could probably arrange for that to happen, but you should know it won't be precisely like the videos you have undoubtedly watched." He shifted a little on the sofa and then decided instead to prop his feet up on the table.

John sat down at the sofa with him. "I don't want to be set up with a man to have sex. I want to have it with you." John scooted away from him a bit before turning and laying his head in Sherlock's lap, gazing up at him.

"I meant me, you fool," Sherlock said. "Do you really think I'm the type of person who would say he was in love with someone and then set that person up with someone else? I hated your going on dates before I even knew I loved you. Think about it, John." He dropped his hand to rest on John's chest.

"Would it make you feel better to know I thought of you the whole time? And they were awful in comparison, and when you called for me I was happy to ditch them and come running?" John asked.  He held Sherlock's hand for a moment before he started kissing Sherlock's fingers lightly.

"No, don't say that. That makes you sound mean and you're not mean," Sherlock said. He liked the feeling of John's mouth touching his fingers. He looked down and watched what was happening. "Do you think we'll sleep in the same bed now? I mean actually sleeping?"

John smiled before pausing and looking up at him. "I would like that a lot," he said. He went back to kissing Sherlock's hand, moving down to press a long kiss over his pulse point.

"Are you 'showing your love physically' right now, John Watson?" Sherlock said softly.

John licked out softly at his skin before pulling away and nodding. "Yes, I am."

"It's . . . nice," Sherlock said, "I like it." He rubbed John's chest softly.

John turned onto his side, facing Sherlock's belly. He glanced up, almost for permission, before pushing Sherlock's shirt up lightly and kissing his stomach. His skin was soft and warm.

John's light touches tickled a little. He smiled and then closed his eyes for a moment, realising it had probably been years since another person had touched that part of his body. He moved his hand up to John's arm, softly squeezing his muscles.

John licked the spot lightly as well, then let his shirt drop as he turned to stare up at him again. "Did you like that, too?" he asked quietly.

"Yes," Sherlock said. His hand moved to John's face and he brushed his thumb over John's bottom lip. "I did." He stared down at John and then said, "I need a cup of tea."


	6. Touching

John kissed his thumb lightly before raising his brows. "Tea? Now?" he asked.

"Yes. Maybe you could make it and bring it into my room with you?"

John pouted playfully and sighed. "Okay." He got up and moved into the kitchen, starting the kettle and fishing out mugs.

Sherlock went ahead into his bedroom and put on his pajamas. Then he climbed into the bed and sat awkwardly, waiting for John.

John came in a few minutes later and put his mug on the bedside table. "I . . . do you want me to stay as well?" He asked, smiling lightly.

"Yes, please," Sherlock said. "I'd like you to get in the bed with me, please. But not for sex, not tonight. For something else." He picked up his mug. "For . . . just touching."

John nodded. "Should I go change first?"

"If you'd be more comfortable," Sherlock said. "Sure, why don't you? It'd be nice . . . so we'll be the same. You can sleep in here if you want." He glanced at the clock. "John . . . it's ridiculously early and we're going to bed. Is this what being in love is?"

John laughed loudly. "You're the one that brought us here! I am going to put on my pajamas and I will be back." He went up and changed quickly, bringing two bottles of water back as well.

"Okay, get in and lie down on that side," Sherlock said, pointing. He took another sip of tea as he watched John walk over.

John climbed up where Sherlock had shown him, getting under the covers and pulling them loosely to his waist.

"Here's the thing, John. You touch and are touched a lot -- even if it's just your patients or dates that don't go well. But I don't really touch and I'm certainly not touched," Sherlock said softly. "I liked when you were touching me. I'd like that to happen again." He moved down the bed a little and turned to face John. "What do you think?"

"I think that sounds nice. Do you want me to just touch you?" he asked, shifting to get a bit closer.

"As opposed to your also touching yourself? Or do you mean me touching you?"

"I thought you meant that you just wanted to be touched," John said. "And to be honest I want to take my time touching you. I want to learn and memorise every inch," he smiled.

"I might want to touch, too," Sherlock said. "We'll see." He looked into John's eyes. "It won't always be like this, with me talking . . . stupid like this. It's just new and I'm . . . a bit shy, I guess."

John smiled. "I think the talking is really cute." He grinned wider. "I don't mind. But what if I start touching while you talk and we can go from there?"

"All right," Sherlock said, "but don't say cute. Am I supposed to close my eyes? I don't want to. I want to keep them open." He smiled at John. "Just start already, please."

John grinned and gently lay him down, straddling his thighs. He pushed Sherlock's shirt up and started to slowly run his hands down from his shoulders. "And what should I say?"

"You don't have to say anything," Sherlock said. He watched John and thought about the movement on his skin. "Well, do you like it?"

"I do like it," he smiled. "And I meant instead of cute." He grazed his palms over Sherlock's nipples, just then getting to his stomach. 

"Just . . . don't say anything about that business," Sherlock said. He lifted a hand and held one of John's, pressing it against his chest. "Maybe you could touch with your mouth as well . . . like before?" he said quietly. "Soft."

John smiled wider and nodded. He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss over his heart. He moved down slowly, light kisses and grazing licks, over his chest, nipples, and stomach.

Sherlock reached up and held John's face with his hands. He pulled him closer and kissed his mouth softly. "Okay," he said, pulling back and smiling, "go back to touching, please."

John slid his hands down slowly to Sherlock's hips, curving up and going along his sides now.

"What do you think . . ." Sherlock said quietly, ". . . about trying touching with mouth and hands at the same time?" He pulled John's head down closer to his again.

John closed the space and kissed his mouth softly. "Okay." He started from the top again, grazing his hand along and following it with soft kisses and licks. He wanted to go lower, but Sherlock had said soft today and while he could do that softly as well, he figured all in good time.

"I want to touch you now," Sherlock said. "Will you lie beside me?"

John pressed one more kiss over his navel before moving off and lying next to Sherlock again.

Sherlock helped John off with his shirt. Then he ran his hand down one of John's shoulders and across his chest. He traced John's collarbone with a fingertips and then pressed his palm lightly down one side and across John's belly. Then he moved back up, stroking across each of John's arms and then up and down the sides of his neck. "Okay, turn over now, please," he whispered.

"I can't watch?" John asked quietly, smiling as he moved to turn onto his stomach.

"No -- just feel," Sherlock said. "I want to touch your back." He stroked softly, covering John's shoulders and arms. He touched John's scars and the contours of his muscles. He moved to his lower back and touched the sides of his hips. "I think you need to take off your pajamas, John," he said eventually. "I've touched everywhere above your waist. I want to touch everywhere on your body." 

"Well, if I had known that . . ." John smiled, turning his head onto his cheek.

Sherlock pulled John's pajama bottoms off. "Stay on your belly," he said. He moved down the bed and began rubbing John's feet and ankles. Over his calves and thighs, Sherlock's motion became a little harder, almost kneading the muscles which were bigger and stronger than he had expected. Then the movement changed to light strokes -- his fingertips just barely grazing John's arse and hips. "All right," Sherlock said. "Turn over now. Please."

John hummed softly, enjoying this a lot more than he expected he would. He turned around again, lightly flushed and smiling.

Sherlock moved back down to John's feet and rubbed up the front of his legs. Then he stroked John's belly again, letting his hand drift lower down his pelvis. He let his fingers wrap around John's cock. The skin was soft and a bit warm. He just held it gently, not moving, just holding John in his hand. "I feel . . ." he said quietly, not sure precisely what he should say. "I feel like I want . . . sex now."

John gasped softly, his fingers curling around the bed sheet. "Sherlock . . . " he breathed, licking his lips.

"We don't have to," Sherlock said. "I just felt like I should say my feeling." He still held John, even as he shifted his own body to lie back down on the bed again. "I'm sorry . . . I don't know what's right to say or not say."

"I want to, Sherlock. It just surprised me." He turned onto his side as well and touched Sherlock's cheek. "I'm glad you said it -- that you said what you are feeling."

"See? Already I've changed. I told you," Sherlock said, though he realised that insisting on pointing out that he was right was certainly not a change, so that seemed like an all right balance. "What should we do about my feeling?" he asked. He noticed his fingers were now spread out on John's cock, stroking it softly. "Should I stop?"

John shook his head. "Please don't . . ." He tugged at Sherlock's pajamas, trying to get them off.

Sherlock wiggled his hips to help remove his pajamas. "Just say the word and I will. If you want me to stop, I will," Sherlock said, tightening his grip just a little. His body was suddenly filled with such desire -- a desire for John, for sex, for closeness -- he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt like this and it was almost a little frightening. But he wouldn't ignore it, he couldn't push it away. He leaned in, pressing his head into John's shoulder. "John," he moaned softly before kissing and sucking on John's skin.

"Kiss me," John moaned softly, dipping to find Sherlock's mouth as he stroked his cock softly.

Sherlock lifted his head and kissed John. But it was different, a different kind of kiss. It was still good. Almost too good as it made Sherlock's whole body ache with need. "I'm sorry . . . I'm sorry I couldn't wait. We don't have to, John," he said before kissing him again.

"It's okay . . . I want to, Sherlock. I want you so badly," he moaned softly.

"I never want to make you sad, John," Sherlock said, which surprised him. Is this how it was going to be now -- his feelings coming out at all the wrong times? To stop himself from saying anything else, he kissed John again and tried to focus on the feelings his body was having.

John hummed softly and returned the kiss eagerly, trying to use it to tell Sherlock how that would never happen. Unrealistic, maybe, but he didn't care. He moved to climb over Sherlock, stroking and rutting against him.

Sherlock shifted a little so he could easily stroke John. He looked up -- John was so handsome and good and now they were doing this and everything seemed right. "I love you," he said softly and decided that was an appropriate feeling to say at the moment.

"I love you, too." John flushed.


	7. Sex

Sherlock reached up and kissed John hard. "Let me put my mouth on you," he whispered after the kiss.

John rolled to the side, nodding. "Okay," he breathed.

Sherlock sat up next to John, leaning down to kiss his mouth. Then he scooted down the bed a bit and covered John's cock with soft kisses before swirling his tongue over the tip. He reached over and held one of John's hands. His other hand lifted John's cock and he sucked him into his mouth. He tasted of sex -- a taste Sherlock had forgotten. He hummed around John. It was all so good. 

John hissed a surprised breath, lacing his fingers into Sherlock's hair. "Sherlock . . . that feels so good . . .fuck."

Sherlock kept moving his mouth as he squeezed John's hand. It seemed strange they hadn't done this before -- it felt so good. It was John -- everything with John was good. Why hadn't Sherlock thought of this before? He dropped his other hand to grip John's thigh. 

John held his hand tightly. It was the best thing he'd ever felt. "Sherlock . . . your mouth is fantastic," he murmured.

Sherlock lifted his head and smiled. "Did you think I'd be good at this? That I'd even know how to do it?" he asked, flicking his tongue on John a little.

John shook his head. "I'm very happy you do," he smiled.

"I hope I keep surprising you," Sherlock said, "in good ways, I mean." He moved back up the bed now and curled around John. "Did you want to do more?"

"I want to do you, too," John said, hoping to surprise Sherlock as well. He climbed on top of him and kissed his mouth before slowly moving down.

Sherlock laid back. "You don't have to . . ." he said softly. But he wanted John to -- god, he did. He tried to keep breathing as John's mouth moved down his body.

"Oh but I want to, Sherlock" John huffed a breath over his cock, licking a long slow stripe along his shaft. He blew cool air on it and smiled.

"God, John," Sherlock said, reaching down just to touch John wherever he could. "God, that feels good . . . your mouth . . ." He couldn't really bring himself to make a proper sentence, but he didn't care.

John grinned and sucked Sherlock into his mouth, bobbing up and down and humming around him.

Sherlock let his hips rock gently. "Fuck . . . John . . .," he moaned softly. "Please . . ." His hand gripped John's arm, and Sherlock did his best to keep his breathing under control.

"Surprised?" John smiled, swirling his tongue around the head before sucking him down again. He rutted against the bed to satisfy his own cock.

"Pleasantly," Sherlock said, lifting his head up to look at John's face. He was so handsome. Suddenly, he was overtaken by urge again. "Let me fuck you, John," he said softly.

John pulled up and blinked at him. "Yes . . . Sherlock. God yes," he nodded.

Sherlock sat up and moved John onto his back next to him. He reached over to the bedroom cabinet and got a small bottle of lube. "I don't have any condoms, John," he said. "Have you got one in your wallet?"

John shook his head. "Maybe in my room, but I haven't been with anyone in a long time," he murmured.

"What should we do? I've got a clean sheet somewhere around here . . . I've not done anything, no drugs -- nothing -- since then," Sherlock said, "but. . . should I go check your room?"

"I can tell you where they are," John said.

"I'll get them," Sherlock said, hurrying to John's room and finding them quickly. He returned and crawled back on the bed. He lay down on top of John and began kissing him again. He held onto John's hands and lifted them above his head. "God, you're . . . so far it's been fucking fantastic being in love with you, John Watson."

John grinned. "I'm glad you think so. I agree completely." He arched into Sherlock's hands, humming softly. "I'm so hard . . . I need you."

Sherlock slid his hand down John's body and stroked him. Then he moved down between John's legs. He poured some lube into his hand and stroked John a few times, before reaching for one of John's hands and moving it to John's cock. "Keep this hard for me," he said softly. He moved his hand between John's leg, slicking everything. "Relax for me," he whispered. He dragged his fingertips over John's hole. "I want you to feel good," he said, slowly pushing in the tip of his index finger. "Tell me if you want me to stop." 

John moaned softly and shook his head. "Don't stop, please . . ." he breathed. Staying hard was not a problem at all. He imagined ahead, imagined Sherlock inside of him and he moaned louder. "Please . . ."

Sherlock pushed a second finger in. "Be patient, John," he said softly, though his own cock ached with need. "You've just got to . . . be ready. I don't want to hurt you. I want you . . . I want it to feel good." He pumped his fingers slowly and deliberately, curling them to brush past John's prostate once or twice. When he finally felt like John was open for him, he leaned over and kissed him. "Remember the Hanged Man -- just relax, don't struggle. But if it hurts or you don't like it . . . tell me, John." He leaned back and stroked himself before rolling on a condom, slicking himself and John again. He shifted to line himself up. "Take a breath, John," he said and then slowly pushed in.

John moaned loudly, gripping the bed beside him. There was more of a stretch than actual pain, and he felt every inch moving into him -- felt himself taking Sherlock in. "Fuck . . . Sherlock, it's . . . don't stop . . . please don't."

Sherlock moved his body as slowly as he could. He leaned over and kissed John hard. He rolled his hips a little, pushing deeper. "Jesus, John," Sherlock moaned softly into his ear. "You . . . it feels so good." He dropped his head to the side of John's, kissing and breathing against his cheek.

John nodded, panting softly as he tried to move with Sherlock for more. "You can . . . move . . . I want you so-so much."

Sherlock let his body go more, pushing deeper into John. He gasped and panted, wrapping one hand around John's head and gripping his hair. "Use your hand --" he moaned, "it's been too long -- I'm not . . . going to be able to last . . . I'm sorry but it's . . . so good."

John opened his mouth to tell Sherlock he was already too close himself, but a breathless 'Sherlock' came out instead. He moaned loudly, coming onto their stomachs without a warning. He felt himself squeezing and trying to hold Sherlock in, bucking off of the bed to feel him -- to get impossibly closer.

"Jesus, John," Sherlock moaned as he arched up into him, coming hard. His whole body tensed and then melted immediately. He dropped onto John, rolling to the side. He pulled out and reached down to take off the condom. Then he just lay flat on his back next to John, panting heavily. "John . . ." he managed to say.

"I'm okay . . .it was so good," John panted softly. He turned to his side and draped an arm over Sherlock.

"It felt incredible," Sherlock said. "I . . . wanted you to feel that good. I'm sorry it was . . . fast."

"It wasn't that fast -- look at the build up we had," John smiled. He scooted closer to rest his forehead on Sherlock's shoulder. "It was fantastic," he murmured. "I love you so much."

"Well, I'm glad," Sherlock said, wrapping his arm around John and stroking his back lightly. "I hope that's what you wanted to happen."

John nodded. "I did."

"Because you really wanted it or because a fortune teller convinced you you did?" Sherlock asked.

John chuckled softly. "Because I wanted it, goof."

"Just checking. . . " Sherlock said. "I . . . didn't know until this morning, I guess, that it's what I wanted as well. I'm glad it happened." He snuggled a bit more into the bed to get comfortable.

"Me too," John smiled. He shifted to hold Sherlock better.


	8. Their Cards Were Right

Sherlock glanced over at the clock. "John, it's still ridiculously early -- are we going to sleep or are we going to get up?" He lifted a hand to John's hair and fiddled with it a little.

John opened his eyes again and grinned. "You are all over the place," he said.

"I know," Sherlock said, "I'm discombobulated -- this love and sex stuff is not how I thought I'd be spending this evening and now I'm confused by the change in routine. Just . . . tell me what we're going to do this evening."

"Hmm . . . are you hungry?" John asked, raising his brows at him.

"John, have you forgotten to whom you're speaking? Of course, I'm not hungry," Sherlock said. He rolled over flat on his back and threw up his arms. "Is this how it is now? You can't make a decision without some magic cards telling you what to do?" he teased. 

John pinched his ribs lightly and grinned. "I want to lay in bed tangled around you. Then I want to eat, and then maybe suck you off one more time before we sleep." 

"Is that what you normally say to your dates, because if it is, I have a little insight into why you end up alone at the end of the night. That's not very romantic, John Watson," Sherlock said.

John chuckled and swatted his arm. "Shut up," he smiled.

"All right, we'll lie here a bit longer and then get some food and then you can express your love physically via your mouth when we get back in bed," Sherlock said, smiling stupidly at John. He tangled his legs with John's and went back to fussing with his hair. "So are you my boyfriend now?" he asked softly.

"Yes. And you are my boyfriend," John grinned. It sounded so good.

"I'm glad . . . I've never really had a proper boyfriend," Sherlock said. "I hope I can be what you want."

"You're what I want, Sherlock. Now, if you don't stop with that kind of talk I will have to find something else for your mouth to do," John grinned. 

"I had no idea you were such a pervert, John," Sherlock said. "Where did you get such a filthy mind?"

"I have always had a filthy mind," John chuckled. "But in all honesty, I don't want you to worry so much, okay?"

"But John, I do worry about things . . . especially when they're things I'm not expert on. That's who I am -- who you claim to love, don't forget -- so shut your face," Sherlock said, putting his hand over John's mouth and then sneaking a finger between his lips.

John hummed in surprise and then met his gaze, sucking on the finger in his mouth. 

"I like your mouth," Sherlock said, pulling his finger out and touching John's bottom lip. "Except when it's being bossy to me."

"What I meant before was I don't want you to worry about not being good enough, okay?" John asked softly. Then he smiled and tried to speak normally. "Well, your mouth is always bossy to me, but I like it all the same."

"I know what you meant, John, but I still will worry because that's how I am, but it didn't stop me telling you I loved you, it didn't stop me from doing the sex stuff, did it? So shush now," Sherlock said, leaning over and kissing his mouth. "Why don't I have a cup of tea in my hand?"

"Don't be bossy," John smiled. "Do you really want me to go make tea?"

"But I am bossy, John Watson," Sherlock said. "I doubt that's an area that's going to change." He pinched him softly. "Let's just both get up and get the tea. Are you going to go naked?"

"Depends -- is the door locked?" John asked. 

"A pervert and an exhibitionist? God, you hide your sexual proclivities well -- I would have never guessed. I'm worried now what else you've kept hidden," Sherlock said, sliding out of bed and putting on his pajamas and dressing gown. 

John got out of bed and took Sherlock's dressing gown off, wearing it himself. "You have pajamas. Let me wear this," he grinned. 

"You look cute," Sherlock said. He headed down to the kitchen and put the kettle on. "Do you think we'll do sex every day?"

"Maybe not every day, but now that it's new and exciting I wouldn't be surprised."

"I don't know if I'll be able to," Sherlock said. "I usually don't normally have those urges that frequently, if I'm honest. Of course, I didn't think I fancied it tonight and that quickly changed, so I guess we'll see," Sherlock said, pouring the tea. "What food do you want to eat then?"

"Hmm . . . pancakes, I think," John smiled. "Will you make me some? Maybe do some fancy flips?"

"No, I will not," Sherlock said, sitting down at the table with his tea.

John pouted. "Fine," he mumbled, starting to slowly make them himself. 

Sherlock watched John move. "John, have I ever cooked for you? I mean -- honestly, have I ever cooked? You said I didn't have to change. Don't act like I'm being mean when I'm just being me."

"It's not changing," John said, mixing up the batter. "I just thought it'd be fun. I could have helped." He lit the burner and set the frying pan over it, moving his bowl closer. 

"Well, I take back what I said about trying to be more like your type of fun," Sherlock said, standing up and moving over by John. "That doesn't look very fun at all." He leaned his body against John's. It was a little awkward, but he still kind of liked it.

"I could have taught you something new," John said quietly, pouring the batter for the first one.

Sherlock was bored of the conversation about the food. So he changed to something new. "I went to see Anna this morning," he said matter-of-factly.

John's brows furrowed lightly. "You went? Why?"

"Just to see what it was like. You know -- learn something new, which you seemed so keen on a minute ago," Sherlock said, fiddling with the belt of the dressing gown. "Are you cross about it or something?"

John shook his head. "I'm just surprised. I never thought you'd go to something like that. What did she tell you?"

"She didn't tell me anything," Sherlock said. "She showed me some cards and that was all. If you told her some secrets, they're still safe with her." He moved back to the table. "Am I going to be able to have one of those pancakes? Just to try . . ." he asked.

"I didn't tell her any secrets," John said. "And I don't know -- I'll think about it." He was teasing, of course, but he continued working without looking at him.

"You're mean. One of the cards she showed me was the Mean Man and now I know it referred to you," Sherlock said. "Fortunately, it was in the 'Withhold-Sexual-Favours' position in the spread so now I know she must know what she's talking about. I have no choice, I suppose, but to obey what the universe told me."

John rolled his eyes. "You're making that up! And does that mean if I don't give you a pancake I can't suck you off?"

"I think the cards said I could accept sexual favours, just not give them," Sherlock said. "Do you want me to call Anna and double check?" 

"Why would I offer sexual favors when I've already done all the work here?" John asked, raising his brows at him

"You were just offering me a blow job!" Sherlock said. "Just bring those pancakes over here and let me watch you eat them, please."

"That was before you started being mean to me. I'm rescinding my offer now." John poured some syrup on the pancakes and came over to the table, digging in as he pulled his tea closer.

Sherlock watched John eat. "You love food, John Watson. I do not, but I like watching you and seeing your pleasure." Sherlock leaned over and touched John's hand quickly. "I probably am unwilling to cook food for you, but I will happily bring home food for you anytime to give you that pleasure."

"Sherlock, it doesn't matter. It was mostly teasing," John said.

Sherlock smiled. "I'm not teasing, John. I love to watch you when you're enjoying yourself. Even before all this . . . since you've arrived, there's been pleasure in this flat -- yours -- and even if I'm just a bystander, I've liked sharing it with you."

John looked up at him, his fork hanging halfway to his mouth. Why did he have to make it so difficult to be annoyed with him? John sighed and lowered his fork. "It's just eating, Sherlock. It's nothing special."

"It is to me," Sherlock said. "Your pleasure gives me pleasure. Maybe you could eat with no clothes on --" he closed his eyes for a minute, like he was imagining it. "Probably not pancakes, though . . . the syrup might get messy." He opened his eyes and smiled at John. "Am I still going to get that blow job, do you think?"

"Probably, because I can never say no to you," John said reluctantly, smiling over at him. 

"Don't say that," Sherlock said. "I mean, I do want the blow job but you can say no to me if you want to, you know. Now that you're my boyfriend, it'd be upsetting if you say yes when you mean no." He stood up from the table and moved over to sit next to John. He leaned over and licked John's chin. "Mmmm . . . syrup is disgusting by licking you is nice."

John wrinkled his nose and smiled. "And if I ate pancakes naked, would you clean up then, too?" 

"Don't say that -- now I'm getting an erection," Sherlock said, pulling one of John's hands down between Sherlock's legs. "How is this happening? I don't think I've had one for months and now I've had two? You're going to make staying focused on work difficult, I fear." He licked John's mouth again.

John smiled and kissed him properly, humming softly. "That's not a bad thing," he murmured. 

"We'll see," Sherlock said, kissing back. "But we don't have any work right now so finish eating and let's go back to bed."

John went back to his breakfast, offering Sherlock the last bite.

Sherlock crinkled his nose but swallowed it. Then he shifted their chairs so they were facing each other. He pulled John onto his lap and wrapped his arms, kissing him passionately.

John kissed him back with a small hum, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

Sherlock pulled open the dressing gown and slipped it from John. "You're naked now in the kitchen," he stated simply. He reached down and wrapped his fingers around John's cock, pulling it softly, as he continued to kiss John ferociously.

John's cheeks flushed darkly but he focused on the kiss and the movement of Sherlock's hand. "You planned this . . . I think," he murmured against Sherlock's lips.

Sherlock used his free hand to pull John's head back to look him straight in the eyes. "I've not planned any of this . . . since your admission yesterday, I've mostly been unprepared for what was going to happen between us. But I am glad for everything so far." He tipped his head and kissed John quickly, nipping at his bottom lip, before moving to a longer, wetter kiss.

John played with Sherlock's hair as they kissed. His admission yesterday seemed like so long ago, but he was glad he was no longer struggling. Sherlock had turned John's whole life upside down, but it felt so good to finally let go and enjoy his life with Sherlock.


End file.
